The Stranger
by Only a Seamstress
Summary: A very soppy but sweet Helena/Valentine romance that picks up where the lights go down. An early Valentine's Day treat for everyone who longs to believe he really is Valentine...


**The Stranger**

_Well we all have a face that we hide away forever_

_And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone._

_Some are satin, some are steel, some are silk and some are leather,_

_They're the faces of a stranger but we love to try them on._

- From 'The Stranger' by Billy Joel

* * *

Helena didn't think she'd ever been so aware of her heart beating as she was now, looking into the face of the young man who was not quite a stranger. His confused "What?" hung in the air between them. Really, though, she'd known from when he'd laughed at her "You'd have been a lousy waiter" crack that he wasn't Valentine. She could just imagine Valentine's response: he'd pout his painted lips and glare at her through the tiny eye-holes in his mask, and then in that Irish lilt (why _was _someone in her imagination Irish, anyway?) he'd protest petulantly, "I would _not _make a lousy waiter; I would make a _fabulous _waiter. I just don't _want to_."

But that hadn't happened. That hadn't happened because he wasn't Valentine. Hell, he'd even _apologised_ to her straight out after bumping into her. Still, Helena hoped he'd laughed because he thought she was cute – not cute in a child way, but cute in a... in a... oh, God, why was she so bad at this? She wanted him to like her, basically. He was good-looking (definitely better looking than the _horrible _boy fake-Helena had been kissing in her dream) and... and... _and he reminded her of Valentine_ .

She knew that Valentine only existed in her dream. She'd given up any childish belief that the world she'd created was some alternate reality when she'd awoken to find that only a few hours had passed, not the entire day she'd seen through the windows, and that all the stuff fake-Helena had seemed to do hadn't been done. This meant, quite simply, that the whole thing had just been a dream conjured up by a mind consumed by worry for Joanne Campbell. And it just so happened that in that dream she'd met a cowardly, traitorous, jewel-loving, cake-hogging juggler and tumbled (in a way that would have won the applause of the Campbell Family Circus' illustrious German tumblers themselves) head-over-heels in love with him. She'd spent most of the fortnight since that dream (and she'd never had another one about it) thinking about him. Stupid bloody unrequited love.

"What's your name?" the not-quite-stranger asked, jolting her from her reverie. Helena supposed he must have given up hope of ever getting an answer to his question of what she'd meant about waiters.

"Helena."

Although he'd let go of her earlier he was still standing very, very close to her. Her eyes were still fixed on his face. The very fact that he _had _a face made him seem like a stranger. _And he is a stranger, _she reminded herself. _You have never met him before. _

"Mine's Jason," said Jason, quickly adding, "but I'm thinking about changing it. You know, going for something more _circus-y._"

"Yeah," Helena said, grinning at him a little wickedly. "You want something with a bit of dignity and style, mixed with a bit of romance."

"Exactly!" he enthused. Then, with a dramatic hand gesture that was so absolutely, inescapably, heartbreakingly _him_, he said: "Like _Valentine._"

Helena's heart, which she was so painfully aware of, skipped a beat. How, how, _how _could he be a stranger when he was so _familiar?_

* * *

Jason woke up with a feeling that he'd grown used to: his face wasn't right. He frequently woke up from dreams like this, where some kind of freaky mask was involved. He could only remember snippets, but he'd been dreaming like this for years now. The dreams were an integral part of his life, really, mostly because he tended to turn to dreamland as a solution to his problems.

Jason knew he was pretty depressed. Things hadn't been going so well for him in 'real life', so dreams seemed like a nice alternative. His mother had kicked him out gleefully as soon as he was accepted at university. He'd had to stay in a _disgusting _(and disgustingly over-priced) hotel until term had started. Then he'd made the fatal mistake of thinking things were going his way, because his name had been drawn out of a hat, making him the head first-year, in charge of looking after their accommodation, or 'the Tower' as it was affectionately known. Of course, he'd just ended up arguing with every other student there until eventually the whole Tower was against him. And Jason was terrible at apologising.

In short, Jason was miserable. This time, though, his dream had inspired a solution: a _circus._

Among the few things Jason remembered clearly about his dreams were that he called himself Valentine in them (he did not know why), he wore a weird striped mask, and he was a professional juggler. Jason really could juggle, actually. He could juggle _well._ Sure, he'd mostly only learned because it drove his mother round the bend when he juggled the groceries, but that wasn't important.

So why not give in and just do as he'd always wanted: why not run away and join the circus? It was nearly the summer holidays anyway, so he'd be dropping out right at the end of the year. It was decided.

As he pulled clothes carelessly out so he could get dressed, he remembered, sort of fondly, that in his most recent dream there'd been a _girl_. A pretty girl. She'd been brave and funny, too, if he recalled. And she'd had bunny slippers. Yep, bunny slippers. Maybe Jason was funny in the head.

* * *

_Meeting girl by bumping into her? Cliché much, Jason? _

And then,when he really saw her, he had to catch himself before he told her that he'd seen her in a dream. She was smiling at him in total delight. It was definitely her, the dream girl.

_Do not mention dreams, Jason, this is not a bloody Disney movie._

He did apologise to her, though. It felt like doing nothing at all. Somehow, without really knowing this stranger at all, he felt that she deserved an apology from him. Funny, that, because he hardly ever apologised, especially not for something as trivial as bumping into someone.

He told her, with his best 'charming smile' firmly in place, that he wanted to join the circus. It had taken him two weeks to find this place and, now he'd seen her here, he was _positive _that this was the circus for him.

She made some joke about waiters.

_Laugh, laugh, you idiot! _

And laugh he did. He laughed for quite a while before he realised he had no idea what she was talking about.

"What?" he asked, but then, as her deep brown eyes looked up at him in a slightly pained way (what had he said?), a little voice piped up at the back of his mind: "Wasn't there something about being a waiter in that dream? Something to do with fruit?"

_Oh, good God, I am cracking up. Quick, say something else before she realises you're a nutcase who thinks he's been dreaming about her!_

He asked her what her name was. She said it was Helena. And that sounded familiar, which it shouldn't have done because she was a stranger. He did _not _know her at all.

_Maybe, _said the voice in his head, which seemed to have an opinion about everything, _this is what it's like to properly have feelings for a girl – especially a girl who might just actually like you. It's not like you'd really know what that's like._

It was worth considering that, at nineteen, Jason had not ever had a proper girlfriend. Girls tended either to reject him immediately or give him a try for a week or so, then realise he was a total loser who loved the sound of his own voice, was incredibly greedy and an out-and-out coward who regularly made a fool of himself and who liked _juggling _of all things, and then they'd ditch him quicker than you could say 'concertina'. So maybe, just maybe, it was a natural thing (that Jason just happened not to have any prior experience of) to feel this way about a pretty stranger.

But then he mentioned the name 'Valentine' and he could see something snap inside her. He wasn't great with emotions, but he thought he saw both pain and hope splash across her features simultaneously. She had such a... _mobile _face. It was gorgeous.

"So what is it you want to do in the circus, Valentine?" she asked him suddenly.

"I'm a juggler," he replied without missing a beat.

She muttered something very softly which sounded to him, although he wasn't sure, like: "Of course you are."

She raised her voice and said, "Look, Valentine, I really need to get back to amusing these poor punters in the ticket queue, but I'd like to... I'd like to see you juggle before your audition, if that's OK. Meet me behind the big top after the show?"

_Goal!_

"I'll be waiting," he told her in the sexiest tone he could manage. He placed the juggling ball he was still holding in her hand. Oh yes, this one he'd get to like him. Helena and Valentine. Oh... how weird... he'd just thought of himself as _Valentine._

* * *

It transpired that Valentine – _Jason, he's Jason,_ Helena reminded herself harshly – was _not _waiting. Helena was left standing behind the big top, awkwardly shuffling her feet, until he eventually emerged, carrying an enormous bag of doughnuts. His lips were coated in sugar, which he licked off sheepishly when he saw the expression on her face. Helena was furious, not just because he'd made her wait, but because these flashes of how very much like her Valentine he was were starting to become some kind of torture,

"I didn't mean to take so long..." he told her. She was just about to sigh and tell him that she understood that after seeing the food he couldn't help himself, but suddenly he said those words again: "I'm sorry."

This time the apology cut her like a knife. _Oh, God, Valentine..._

He did not miss the flash of hurt that passed across her face. What could he do? He wasn't equipped to deal with this sort of thing, so he did the only thing he could think of: he put the bag of doughnuts down and scooped up in their place the juggling balls she'd placed on the ground for them. He tossed them into the air.

Helena could have cried, and she was not a girl who really approved of crying. She'd cried about her mum's brain tumour, obviously. She'd cried in the dream when he'd handed her over to the Dark Queen. Both times she'd cried because it had seemed like her whole world was falling apart. That's what it felt like now. In his juggling she saw all her adventures with Valentine, all her feelings about the stupid, arrogant git, and all the things she'd never said.

All at once, this stranger threw a ball at her. She took it easily and joined in with his juggling. Without any verbal agreement they both set up an enchanting pattern of flying balls, just as they had when Valentine had broken the spell of the Dark Queen.

They juggled in silence for some time, covertly studying each other. Jason couldn't get away from the fact that she was still a girl, several years his junior, but that didn't do anything to ease the dryness of his throat as he watched her juggle.

Helena broke the silence. "Valentine, if I tell you something weird, will you think I'm crazy?"

"Yes, I expect so."

She swallowed, too nervous of what she was going to say to respond to this. "Valentine ...I... I had a dream once... and... well... you were kind of... in it."

Jason, or Valentine, or whoever he thought he was, dropped the ball he'd just caught.

"Butterfingers," Helena said weakly.

Jason had bent to retrieve the ball, and he stayed down for a long moment, looking at the ground. Helena could not see his face.

He rose. Painted across his features was a look of mingled apprehension and resolve. This was a gamble, but the prize, if he won, would be worth it.

"Why shouldn't you dream about me?" he said softly, almost – but not quite – tentatively. "I am, after all, a Very Important Man."

The air was knocked out of him as Helena collided with him, her arms locking around his neck ad her tear-stained face burrowing into his shirt.

"You _are _Valentine! I thought... I thought you were some kind of stranger..."

"I had a dream about you, too," he said, stroking her back and casually allowing the smell of her hair to wash over him.

"That's great," she whispered into his shoulder, and he could tell she was holding back sobs.

"So... same dreams... that's..." he faltered.

She looked up at him, with her big brown eyes so full of joy and... and something_ more_, and she said, quite calmly, "You don't remember it all, do you?"

Valentine (for he was now sure, as was she, that he _was _Valentine) grinned sheepishly. "Eh... not per se, no..."

"It's OK," she said, smiling broadly. He'd seen her smile like that before. Not just when he'd bumped into her beside the queue, but before that. Her hair had been all styled up, she'd had a black dress, and she'd been grinning down at him from the top of some steps...

"It's OK, Valentine," she continued, taking his hands in her own petite ones. "As long as I know you're you, I know how to get your memories back."

He thought she was going to kiss him then, but she turned away from him. She was, at least, still holding his hand.

"Come on!" she said over her shoulder, tugging on his hand. She could have laughed out loud in sheer delight when he paused to pick up his bag of doughnuts.

* * *

She led him to her trailer. The knowledge of what to do was with her, just as it had been when she was dreaming. She opened the door and stepped inside, turning to invite Valentine in.

He was wavering in front of the doorway, but he hadn't dropped her hand.

"How likely is it," he asked, "that your parents will kill me if they find me in here?"

Helena shrugged. "I'm just going to show you round, that isn't a crime. And besides," she added, "I don't intend for them to find you."

He followed her inside.

The walls of Helena's trailer were pasted with drawings. He leant in closer to examine them. Sphinxes. Giants. Two queens. Then... _him_. It was him. All of this was familiar, so very familiar. A psychologist could have explained that Helena's drawings were acting as visual triggers, stimulating his subconscious memory to recall every last detail of his dreams. All he felt though, were the parts of his dreams – years of dreams more than Helena's one – that had slipped away upon his waking rising slowly, as though through dark water.

And, would you look at that, he _had _hogged that cake. And...

* * *

"Please say something," Helena begged the young blond man who'd just sunk down onto her unmade bed.

He turned to look at her tortuously slowly.

"I _betrayed _you," he moaned. She sat down beside him, but he flinched away. "I gave you up to the Dark Queen for a hatful of rubies. I'd forgotten that. I probably didn't _want _to remember. How can you even look at me after I did that?"

Helena took his hand tenderly. "But you came _back._ That's what matters. And now you've come back to me again."

It was now or never. She drew in a deep breath and twisted round so she was kneeling beside him on the bed. She reached out her hand that wasn't in his and touched his cheek. Gently, she turned his head so he was facing her. Closing her eyes, she leant in and pressed her lips to his.

He met her halfway. Her hands moved to his hair and his to round her waist. No, this wasn't one of the crazed, messy snogs people Valentine had known at university went on about, but there'd be time for those in a few years. This kiss in itself was magical enough for him now. And as for Helena, her first kiss was what few people outside of dreams would ever be able to claim it to be: perfect.

At last they separated, and Helena rested her head blissfully against his shoulder. They breathed each other in.

"OK," she said, breaking the silence, "now you've got to tell me how you ended up in the world I created."

He leant back on the bed, resting slightly on one elbow, holding Helena to him.

"I don't know exactly, but – your mother, she was the Dark Queen?" He snapped into the subject change suddenly in the way his quick mind was always able to do. Helena marvelled at him and squeezed him a little bit tighter.

"And the Queen of the Light. Most of the people I know turned up there. But you I didn't know. And no one else remembered anything. What's with that?"

Without releasing Helena from his embrace, Valentine stretched up and plucked down one of her marionettes. It was him.

Helena blushed a bit, but he didn't mock her. Instead, he said, "I think most of your characters were just based on your circus-folk, but when you made Valentine... ooh, well, there just wasn't anyone around brilliant enough to be him." She swatted his arm cheekily, and then kissed it. He grinned and dangled the marionette in front of her nose.

"Your world needed someone to fill a role," he went on. "And, by some divine coincidence, across the Irish Sea was a sad boy who needed a role to fill.

"Do you remember me telling you about my mother? You didn't create my dream mother; I did. She's just like my real mother: uncaring, cruel; but in my dreams – do you remember? – she _bought me from someone else_. That's every miserable child's dream, isn't it, to find out that the parent or parents you loathe aren't _really_ your parents?

"So you see, I was a very miserable boy. I needed a world to move into, a world where I could juggle without being slapped, where I could hide my face behind a mask, where I could get away from the reality I couldn't bear. In my dreams I had no memories outside of the ones I made in my dreams. Of course," he finished with a hint of wry amusement, "I still had a mother who _hated_ me, but your world did give me some escape."

He wasn't looking at Helena, so the second kiss caught him totally unawares. He was pushed into the pillow, Helena's hands lovingly massaging his scalp.

"I'm so, so sorry you had to go through that," she said when they pulled apart breathlessly. "Maybe what you said is right, maybe that is how it worked – it sounds like about the most sensible explanation that there can be for this crazy stuff. But to be honest, I don't _care_. I'm just glad that you were there, in my dream world. What matters is that we met, and that you're here now, with me."

He smiled at her and she smiled at him.

"I know you'll get through the audition, Valentine," Helena assured him, lying down completely against his chest.

He ran the fingers of one of his very talented hands through her short, soft hair. "We were a great juggling duo, weren't we?" he mused.

"The best."

A pause.

"Helena," Valentine began a little awkwardly, starting to sit up. A shadow had passed across his face, and she could not quite read his expression, as though his mask were back on. "I... I... I..."

Helena recognised this and smiled faintly. She wasn't sure what he wanted to apologise for, but it was funny to watch him struggle to get the words out.

The words that came, though, were not what she expected. He looked her straight in the eye and told her, nervously but totally sincerely, "Helena, I love you."

Helena's breath caught. "I love you too. I love you too, you cowardly, cake-hogging..."

Helena never got to finish her rant, Valentine having found a novel way of shutting her up: his lips crashed down onto hers and he drew her close.

They poured themselves into the kiss, knowing full well they were not strangers. They were Helena and Valentine, just as they always should have been, and just as they always would be: together.

**FIN**


End file.
